


Something More Than What They Are

by Sapphic_Futurist



Series: Something More Than What They Are [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Civil War Team Iron Man, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Tony Stark, Loss of Trust, M/M, Marriage breakdown, Partner Betrayal, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Civil War (Marvel), Rimming, Steve Rogers Has The Emotional Capacity of a Potato, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:48:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25612339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphic_Futurist/pseuds/Sapphic_Futurist
Summary: "I promise to trust you, always. To give you everything I have and everything I am. To never hide from you and to never let you hide yourself from me."Did Steve even consider what those vows meant when he’d made them? They’re only pretty words now, scattered like rose petals in the frozen waste of Siberia.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Something More Than What They Are [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1892860
Comments: 56
Kudos: 444





	Something More Than What They Are

**Author's Note:**

> A massive thank you to Stingray and SteveSnarkRogers for the helpful beta work. This one is for my anti-soulmates, the beautiful sadists that they are. 
> 
> When we can't stop loving the people who hurt us. 
> 
> Enjoy.

“No, absolutely not,” Tony juts his chin up a notch, resisting the urge to glare at Ross over the top of his glasses. “You put in so much as a word about Sergeant Barnes serving any time and we’re out. We walk. It’s non-negotiable.”

Ross is a bright, furious tomato red, a shade darker than he was after the break-in at the Raft. A shade Tony hadn’t thought possible.

His tie is askew because he’s been playing with it on and off throughout the session this afternoon, and the vein that runs along his forehead and disappears down the left side of his face is defined and pulsing.

At that moment it feels like it’s just the two of them in the room, despite the gaggle of Avengers old, new, and Rogue, more bureaucrats than Tony can shake a stick at, and a half dozen high-security spectators. Ross’s scowl deepens but it’s better to meet him head-on.

Tony will absolutely not glance to his left, where he can feel Steve’s eyes on him. Barnes’ eyes on him.

“Stark, be reasonable. Sergeant Barnes is responsible for the—”

“Sergeant Barnes has spent decades as a Prisoner of War for the most deranged sect of Nazis this century has ever seen. Sergeant Barnes has been subjected to a level of torture you and I can’t even imagine, Mr. Secretary.” Tony pauses to draw a breath, keeping his voice as even and steady as he can, “Sergeant Barnes is a _victim_ , acting under extreme duress, and the Avengers will not see him doubly punished for the sake of unfortunate politics.”

“Unfortunate politics? Unfortunate _politics_?” Ross’s lips draw back into a snarl, “Let me remind you, Mr. Stark, that you are already bound by the Sokovia Accords, and that by revoking your signature or refusing to comply with any amendments—”

“So be it,” Tony leans back with lazy confidence and crosses his hands on the table. 

Steam all but rises from Ross’s ears and the aid to his left leans in to mutter something private the microphone doesn’t pick up. Next to Tony, Rhodey is tense, his left hand tapping against the side of one of his braces.

They’ve discussed this. All of the current Avengers are in agreement and Ross isn’t naïve enough to challenge the unified team, not now that he’s lost so much ground.

“I think perhaps we’ll end here for today.” The chairwoman, a Frenchwoman with a balanced energy that unsettles Tony, interrupts with a sharp pound of her gavel, “we’ll reconvene at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”

The room takes a deep breath and for a minute, it’s silent. Tony lets out a breath he’s been holding onto all day.

A flurry of motion has people filing out of the massive conference room, and Tony looks away from Ross’s glowering face to focus on Rhodey. Steve lingers across the room from him, somehow Tony knows it without looking over.

When did he start being able to feel Steve’s movements in his bones?

“He’s going to come over here,” Rhodey shifts sideways, his back to Steve, and catches Tony’s eye.

“Then I guess it’s time for dinner, isn’t it Platypus?”

Rhodey clasps a hand on his shoulder and gives him a tired smile as he makes to steer him towards the exit. The dark circles under his eyes are new, and Tony knows that the days are grueling for him in more ways than one. But he stays, all the same, a solid-as-steel presence that keeps Tony grounded.

With Rhodey at his side, Steve doesn’t approach.

Dinner is a quiet affair.

When they’d first arrived in Washington for a week-long session on a series of Amendments being proposed to the Sokovia Accords, dinner had been a loud and obnoxious event. The current Avengers piled in around the table, tempers spitting, emotions rising and cresting like tsunamis as they reviewed the days’ proceedings. 

Tonight, it’s just Tony and Rhodey tucked into a booth in a dilapidated old diner a few blocks away from their hotel, grease running over their fingertips as they devour cheeseburgers in silence.

Tony can hardly fault the rest of the Avengers for their frustrations. It’s not that he doesn’t share them on especially charged days, but after so many months, the sting has gone dull. Life is unfair, isn’t that what everyone always says?

It hadn’t come as a surprise when Ross had proposed pardoning the Rogues.

It did come as a surprise though when the Rogues had been invited, albeit underneath a shaky veil of amnesty, to partake in the deliberations about Amendments. The first day had been a lengthy talk of the consequences being reduced or done away with and the Avengers coming together as a whole again.

On that night, Tony had been spitting fire as much as the rest of them.

Ross was a politician. Politicians were unpredictable, self-serving, and ultimately, relied on teams such as theirs to continue to function. Creating a pariah of Captain America had been a massive error for the Secretary of State.

Now, he was charged with trying to repair it, without looking like a fool.

It wasn’t Tony’s fault that it was all too easy to make Ross look the fool.

“Two more days,” Rhodey’s voice is soft and thick as he wipes his hands on a crumpled napkin and tosses it onto the remains of a soggy bun and a handful of fries.

“Two more days.”

“You going to talk to him?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “And say what?”

“Oh, I don’t know Tony, anything at this point? The man is still your husband,” Rhodey points out, cocking one eyebrow and nodding in the direction of his left hand. The pale circle left behind on his skin glares up at him as obvious as the vibranium wedding band once had.

No one needs to know that he still wears it around his throat.

“Not for much longer.”

“You’re really going to go through with it then?”

Divorce, something that he had once seen as the pinnacle saving grace. Something he had held onto for years as a secret wish for his mother. Something he had never once anticipated wanting or needing for himself.

There had been a time that Tony had thought he’d never marry. When he did, he found himself in a marriage so deep and all-encompassing that the thought of divorce hadn’t crossed his mind. Why would it? 

“Your husband trying to kill you creates reasonable grounds for separation,” Tony quips as if they haven’t already had this conversation multiple times before. He doesn’t know what Rhodey’s angle is tonight. They’ve carefully avoided the topic and danced around it for weeks leading up to the council sessions.

“You didn’t see how he was looking at you when you defended Barnes.”

“Oh, and how was that?”

“Like the sun shines out of your asshole.”

“It’s a very pretty asshole.” Rhodey wrinkles his nose and Tony snorts a dry laugh, “I don’t care how he was looking at me. He doesn’t get it. He probably thinks I’m doing it for him. Whatever, it doesn’t matter now. I’ll serve him the papers before we go.”

Rhodey is quiet for a long moment, eyes searching his face for something Tony doesn’t understand. He shifts uneasily in his chair. No one sees through him quite like James Rhodes.

“Couples have been through worse.”

 _On what planet_ , Tony wonders. “I’m sorry, what’s happening right now Honeybear? You’ve been singing a different tune for months and, what, Rogers turns his puppy dog eyes on and you’re suddenly Team _Cap_?”

Rhodey grunts and gives the ceiling an exasperated look, before pinning Tony with a harsh eye, “I’m just saying that it’s obvious you still love the guy, so maybe it’s worth a conversation before you call it quits. I’m not singing Rogers’ praises here, but I do want you—my friend, my brother—to be happy. And happiness has never come easily to you.”

That is, arguably, an understatement.

Tony shrugs him off without a response and very unlike Rhodey, he seems to allow it.

Seeing Steve before serving him with the papers is out of the question. No question about it at all. All Steve will have to do is look at him with those desperate blue eyes and that fucking disastrously sexy beard and Tony will forgive him.

Hell, Tony will drop to his knees and apologize if Steve wants him to.

It’s already taken him several hours and everything shy of shock therapy to remind himself that Steve has already thrown their marriage away. Tony could forgive him, maybe, for decimating him with the shield. Compared to everything else that feels almost like a lover’s spat.

But it’s more than that.

 _I promise to trust you, always. To give you everything I have and everything I am. To never hide from you and to never let you hide yourself from me_.

Did Steve even consider what those vows meant when he’d made them? They’re only pretty words now, scattered like rose petals in the frozen waste of Siberia.

It’s a small thing to be bitter over, but when Tony had made his vows, he had meant them for life. With a fine-tooth comb, he had selected every word, handpicked each one for Steve with purpose and precision. 

Steve’s vows feel like a rushed thing, now.

Rhodey’s phone goes off and draws Tony back.

“Nat wants to get a drink. Talk.”

“Nope,” Tony lets the ‘ _p_ ’ pop off his lower lip, tossing a casual smile at the waitress across the room with a quick gesture for their bill.

“I’m going to go,” Rhodey fires off a quick response and huffs a breath, his lips tightening into a firm, almost sad line. He looks tired enough to sleep for a week, but still, the tactician in him is preparing. If all goes well and as planned, the Rogues will be pardoned and the team will need to be a _team_ again.

Rhodey felt like the appropriate choice to bridge that gap, and had accepted the honour. Though Tony would argue calling it an honour as Rhodey still struggles through his physiotherapy is a sick joke, even for the Avengers.

They part ways outside the diner and Tony meanders back to the hotel slowly. Their accommodations wouldn’t have been his first choice or even his second, but it’s comfortable enough despite the vivid green walls. The owners must have done something horrible to their interior designer. 

He’s only just dropped his cufflinks onto the small dresser and is halfway through loosening his tie when there’s a knock at his door. It’s sharp and commanding, bringing a ripple of anxiety that spasms through his left shoulder and leaving his fingers twitching at his side.

“I didn’t order room service,” Tony glares at the door and makes no move to open it.

Unsurprisingly, it’s not a shock when he hears the light beep of a key card against his room’s lock. The door handle turns and slides open to reveals his beloved husband in the same sharp cut suit he’d been wearing earlier as he steps over the threshold.

“Wow, this is inappropriate,” Tony’s eyebrows fly up as Steve shrugs him off and shuts the door with a soft _click_. It would have been better if he’d slammed it. “I’m inclined to say that this is illegal. But I guess that wouldn’t mean much to you. Would it, Steve?”

“Tony, just don’t.”

“No, you don’t,” Tony snaps, gesturing a touch too wild towards Steve. “What part of ‘don’t want to see you, stop calling me’ didn’t make it through your thick skull? Get out.”

“No,” Steve’s voice is soft and simple, and he shakes his head gently with the slightest shift in his eyebrows. He looks almost sympathetic as if he can see that Tony is uneasy, which must mean he just doesn’t care enough to listen.

“What do you want?”

“I wanted to talk to you about today. It meant a lot to me, what you said. And, about other things.”

“That’s nice, I really don’t give a fuck. I didn’t do it for you.”

“It meant a lot to Bucky too,” Steve’s face softens when he says the other man’s name, sending a spear of jealousy and white-hot rejection through Tony’s gut.

“Then he can write me a thank you note when it’s all said and done. Is that all?”

Tony turns away with a heavy sigh and crosses the short steps towards the side table in the small sitting room, a half-empty bottle of scotch loosely capped beside overturned crystal glasses from the night before. Or maybe this morning, it’s hard to say.

He pours a generous finger and knocks it back in one burning swig.

“You’re drinking.” It’s not a question.

“Yup.”

Steve looks like he might say something more on the topic, but he rolls his shoulders and bites the words back. Instead, he says, “let’s just… try and talk about this.”

Famous last words.

They’ve tried already. Once. It ended in a screaming match followed by Tony drinking himself into a stupor and secluding himself in his workshop for weeks afterward. Pepper had had to drag him away while making a vague threat to commit him if he didn’t start taking better care of himself. It had been a joke, but the fear in her eyes seemed real enough.

Tony already knows that nothing Steve can say will make any difference.

“It looks like you’re not going to give me much of a choice,” Tony nods with a hint of sarcasm towards the closed door that Steve is still blocking with his oversized body.

“I love you.”

“Spare me.”

“We can figure this out. Tony, please let’s at least try. No yelling this time. I promise I won’t. It’s been months and I don’t want to lose you over this.”

Tony knocks back a second mouthful of scotch and cringes when Steve takes a step towards him. It’s not quite a flinch, but it might as well have been with the way that Steve’s face morphs into a grimace as he clenches his hands at his sides.

Steve is close enough now that Tony can smell him. He still smells like home. Their home.

“We’re not great talkers, Steve.”

“No, we’re not. But I don’t want our marriage to end because we can’t have a conversation.”

Tony bites out a sharp laugh. “Of course you’d think that’s why our marriage is ending. Did I miss you being this oblivious before I proposed, Steve? I feel like this is new, but maybe I was just blind back then.”

“Tony, come on.”

Steve steps into his space. Just one step more and they’d be touching and Tony is torn between whether he should feel hot and bothered or icy fear. His body and brain are at war, rational thought disappearing with the waves of heat radiating from Steve’s body.

Tony hates how much he misses him. If he didn’t have that fucking beard.

“You need to shave.”

Steve quirks a smile, “if that’s what you want.”

“I don’t really give a fuck.”

“Tony,” Steve’s eyes are on his, pinning him in place, “let me fix this. Talk to me. What can I do?” If Tony were to close his eyes, he’d be able to feel the ghost of Steve’s fingers tipping his chin up and pressing their lips together.

It’d be so easy to let Steve have that, to take it for himself.

Tony’s been hurting for so long.

“Nothing.”

The minute he crosses his arms over his chest he realizes he’s made a mistake. Steve’s eyes flicker down to Tony’s bare left hand before he holds his own out in front of them. The grey vibranium interwoven with threads of red and gold metal is incredibly loud against the pale skin of his hands. It screams at them both.

“It’s not over. Tony, it’s not,” It’s a plea and an order, all wrapped into one.

“It’s been over since you started lying.”

Steve doesn’t have a response to that, it seems. All he would have to do is admit it. Apologize in a way that was real. It might not change everything but it would be a start, enough to bring Tony to a grinding halt; a reason to tuck the papers away at the bottom of his suitcase and forget them for a time.

To serve later, or to shred. 

But Steve doesn’t apologize. He never apologizes, Tony has come to realize. The disappointment is just as sharp.

“Just go, Steve. Let’s not do this tonight.”

“Tony, I love you.”

“So you’ve said,” Tony’s lip curls up at the side and he offers Steve a sad, sardonic little smile. “It doesn’t change anything. It’s not enough anymore.”

Steve frowns, “I know you still love me.”

“It’s not about that either.” Tony will never deny that he loves him. Steve’s the kind of man you love across a lifetime. The type of man that lives underneath your skin even when he’s gone, even when he’s holed up in Wakanda with the man that killed your parents.

A man he’d been protecting and hunting down for over a year without so much as a word to his husband.

Tony will love Steve for the rest of his life. It’s not about that in the slightest.

“What are you doing, Steve?”

Steve runs a hand through his too-long hair, a lock falling forward when he shifts to scratch at the side of his beard. Tony wants to trace his fingertips across it and feel the rough scrape of Steve under his palms.

“I—Tony, I don’t know,” Steve murmurs, shaking his head with sad, mournful eyes. “I need you to tell me how to fix this because I can’t figure it out. Just tell me.”

Tony needs him to go before he does something he regrets. 

With a sharp pivot, he slips past him and crosses the room to the door. He cracks it open and gives Steve a hard look. “It’s time for you to go.”

“No, I—”

“Go.”

Steve strides towards him in half as many steps which forces Tony to lean back to look up at him as he reaches over him and shuts the door. This time, Steve pushes it hard enough to leave it rattling on its hinges.

Tony grits his teeth, the urge to punch Steve a quick violence that rises and crests on a wave of resentment before shifting into something more. 

“We need to–”

Tony does the one thing he promised himself he wasn’t going to do, and kisses him, hard.

It’s the next best thing to punching him because he can bite down on his bottom lip until he tastes copper and fist his hands in that long blond hair and _twist_. Steve stumbles backward but takes Tony with him, arms immediately coming to wrap around his waist and pull him in despite his grunt of pain.

Steve is pliant under his attention, opening his mouth for Tony’s tongue to spear inside and lick behind his teeth. Fisting his hands in the short hair of his beard, Tony tugs at his jaw, pushing and pulling him into the right position as he slams him back against the wall.

It’s easy to see that Steve is letting him have this, letting him take what he wants because in all other things Steve Rogers is an immovable block of stone. He tugs Tony up against his front, plastering them together and slipping a hand under the back of his jacket to ruck up his shirt and get at bare skin.

Tony resists the urge to yank him down by his tie, listen to the rewarding sound of him choking as the knot twists against his throat. Instead, he focuses on kissing him deeper, pouring in all the heartache, loneliness, and bitterness that he’s lived with all these months.

He forces Steve’s vows back into his body with his tongue. Tony has no use for them anymore.

“What are we doing?” Steve’s breath is hot against his lips when he tears his mouth away.

Tony ignores him, mouth moving on to his throat as he pops the button on his jacket and tugs Steve’s shirt out of his pants. Manhandling him away from the wall, Tony shoves him down onto one of the chairs beside the small table and drops to his knees.

With a singular focus, he tugs at Steve’s belt and yanks it open, shoving his pants and underwear down as Steve lifts his hips. Steve’s already hard, erection thick and dripping, jutting proudly from a short swatch of dark blond hair.

Steve’s fingers are running through his hair, slipping down to cup his cheek and tip his head up but Tony ignores it, swallowing him down without meeting his eyes.

The groan Steve lets out should make him shiver, but it has tears prickling behind his eyes and it takes more than it should to hide them underneath a choke and light gag.

When Steve tries to thread his fingers through his hair again to gain some control over Tony’s ministrations, he bats him away. Instead, he allows Steve’s hand to settle over his own on Steve’s thigh, losing himself in the slick, wet glide of his tongue over Steve’s shaft.

A steady stream of breathy gasps urges Tony on and he pulls off long enough to tongue the slit and swirl a wet circle around the head before he’s dipping back down and sucking at a brutal pace. Reaching above his head, he grabs onto Steve’s ridiculous purple tie and yanks, making Steve groan.

Steve had worn this tie on their wedding day.

_“Why can’t they be red?” Tony asks with a frown, holding up the two thin purple ties that Steve has selected for them. They’re not as pretty as the matching pinstriped ones Tony had suggested, one in Iron Man red and the other in a royal shade of blue._

_There was something romantic in the imagery, Tony had thought, them wearing each other’s colours._

_“Red and blue. Purple. Get it?” Steve gives him a dopey grin and Tony can’t resist, looping both ties around his neck and using them to tug him close and kiss him silly._

_“You’re a sap. I love you.”_

“I hate this tie,” Tony hisses as he pulls off, gasping in a breath before swallowing Steve down to the root.

“You love this tie,” Steve curls his hand over Tony’s again, linking their fingers together, and Tony yanks his hand back, pulling off and finally looking up to meet Steve’s eyes. Intimacy is the absolute last thing Tony wants, but seeing the concern in Steve’s gaze momentarily catches him off guard. 

“Fuck me.”

“Tony, I don’t think that’s—”

“Fuck me or get out, Steve,” Tony snaps, already on his feet and yanking Steve up with him.

Steve comes to him like a sexual marionette and when Tony turns around, already working at his belt and shoving down his slacks, Steve’s hands take over. His jacket is stripped off his shoulders and he hears the rustling of Steve doing the same before two hands shove him forward at the hips and he lands on his hands and knees on the bed, ass up, face down.

It’s Steve’s least favourite way to fuck him, Tony knows. The romantic in Steve likes to see Tony’s face when he comes, staring so deep into his eyes that Tony could swear Steve can see his soul leave his body in the split second where he tips over into release.

“Tony,” Steve groans low in the back of his throat and suddenly there’s a sharp, prodding tongue between his cheeks, lapping at his entrance and shoving inside the tight ring of muscles. 

Tony grunts and fists his hands in the sheet, pressing his forehead down as heat washes through him. “Oh fuck.”

Steve had picked this trick up like a pro, and he puts his talents to good use now. Spearing him open with his tongue, he uses his wide palms to spread and massage Tony’s cheeks, pressing so hard there will surely be bruises there tomorrow.

He slips a thumb past the rim and tugs, stretching wider so he can fuck Tony on his tongue like he means it.

The beard burn is new, scratching and leaving a prickling trail of heat when he pulls back only to dive in deeper. Steve’s beard rubs against his balls and the base of his cock and when he slides his tongue down against his perineum and Tony curses himself for only being able to have this once.

Steve eats his ass like it might make Tony stay—desperate and silently begging.

Tony bites back a moan and fists a hand against his forehead, shoving back onto Steve’s fingers when he adds one, then a second and spreads him to wiggle the tip of his tongue between them. He’s already loosening up, his hole neglected for so long, blossoming at the opportunity to take Steve inside him in again.

Shifting up higher on the mattress, Tony fumbles for the tube of lube he’s shoved into the bedside table; a pathetic hope that he might get lucky or at the very least have the urge to re-familiarize himself with his own hand.

He shoves it behind him with a condom and prods Steve in the ribs with his foot.

“Tony, what—” Steve’s voice is a mixture of confusion and hurt.

“I’ve been with other people.”

There’s a long pause before a firm whisper, “no, you haven’t.”

No. He really hasn’t.

“Just do it,” Tony crawls off the bed and yanks off his slacks and boxers together while Steve stands their dumbfounded, eyes jumping back and forth between Tony and the condom in his hand. He sighs, exasperated, and takes it back, tearing it open with a smooth rip and sliding it over Steve.

He hasn’t been with anyone else. But he doesn’t want any part of Steve to linger with him after this is finished.

A clean break.

“Come on, fuck me,” Tony rearranges himself on the bed, shifting the back of his dress shirt up and over his hips as he feels Steve come to stand behind him, prick rubbing between the crack of his ass.

Over his shoulder, Steve’s shirt is undone and his tie is still hanging loose around his neck. As always, Steve’s chest is perfect, all glorious planes of muscle void of even a single scar. So unlike Tony’s now littered with more than ever.

Steve’s eyes are blown black, but there’s something sad lingering around the corner of his mouth, a slight curve downward.

“These fucking socks.” 

It’s a small weakness that Tony’s wearing them at all, but Steve had loved them—something about fashion in the forties and seeing a part of that on the person tying him to the future—and Tony loves Steve, regardless of whether or not he should.

Steve snaps the top of one, sitting high on his calves before he falls silent and slicks himself up. Tony is wet and dripping from where Steve has attacked him with his mouth and when he finally slides home, Tony shifts restlessly, groaning around the fist he’s shoved between his teeth.

The stretch burns. It always burns, and it’s the first time that Tony feels whole in months.

Steve sets a slow, teasing pace that the mood doesn’t call for, so Tony shoves his hips back and urges Steve to fuck him harder. When he doesn’t immediately comply Tony swears under his breath and kicks him again, this time in the side of the thigh.

It’s strange, fucking this stranger who was once his husband.

Steve almost treats him as if he’s delicate, hands fluttering across his back, settling softly at the top of his ass before finding a tentative grip at his hips. It’s as if he can’t tell what’s allowed, even though his hands knew every inch of Tony once.

“Tony, you’re so beautiful.”

“Shut up.”

Steve does, hips pistoning faster now, with a hand sliding under Tony’s hip to grip his cock. He gets in one hard stroke before Tony’s smacking his hand away and shoving back harder. It hurts, and Tony wants it to hurt.

He wishes he’d had the mind to fuck Steve instead; hurt Steve the way Steve will never hurt him, even when he begs for it.

It’s mere seconds before Steve tries to fist his cock again and Tony lets out a hiss of frustration, gripping his wrist and pinning it to the mattress.

That _does_ something to Steve, igniting the fire in him that Tony’s been looking for. Except it backfires and instead of pounding him into the next decade, Steve pulls out and manhandles him onto his back, leaving Tony bouncing against the mattress.

Devastation and hope contradict themselves across Steve’s features when he lays eyes on Tony’s wedding band. It’s made a home inside the hollow of Tony’s left clavicle, delicate chain pooling at his throat and though Steve doesn’t look away he must know enough to keep his mouth shut. 

Steve’s careful not to loom over him, but his hands are a vice at his hips when he slides to the ground at the edge of the bed and takes Tony into his mouth. It’s a small decency that Steve fills him back up with his fingers, stroking across his prostrate in harsh pulls as he sucks him.

This is about possessing him, Tony knows, so he refuses to look at him, closing his eyes and tipping his head up towards the top of the bed. 

Steve makes all the right noises, soft little moans that zip through Tony’s cock and create layer after layer of heat in the pit of his belly. It would be so easy to spill in Steve’s mouth and call it a day.

He’s not that selfish. Really, he’s just selfish enough.

Right before he can’t take anymore, he shoves hard into Steve’s mouth and relishes the sound of him gagging.

“Stop, fucking stop.” Tony buries a hand in Steve’s hair and tugs harder than he needs to, “fucking fuck me, Rogers.”

Steve gives him another baleful look, wiping the back of his mouth on his forearm before tugging Tony back down the bed. Sliding back in, Steve shoves one of his thighs up higher than it has any right to go and grips him hard at the ankle, leveraging his thrusts as he picks up the pace.

“That’s it, sweetheart, look at you.”

Tony flinches when he realizes that Steve’s hand is back on his cock and when he tries to shove it away again, Steve grips him tighter. Somehow it both makes him jerk and staves off the fast-approaching orgasm.

In retaliation, Tony reaches up and twists one of his nipples until Steve’s worrying at his lower lip, and his eyes are falling closed again.

“Come on, fuck me.” Tony’s gasping and clenching down, pulling out all the stops to just get Steve to fuck him the way he needs to be fucked. If Steve will just fuck him until he’s crying and aching, it’ll be worth it. “You fucking bastard, come on.”

He tugs on Steve’s tie again. The fabric creaks and whines under the strain, bringing Steve down to avoid ripping the fabric. Tony feels trapped, breathing coming sharper with Steve hovering above him and he squeezes his eyes shut to try and remember the first time they were together instead. The first time that Steve filled him like this, gazing into his eyes, breathing into his mouth, _loving him_.

It’s blurred with Steve’s blood splattering onto his face and his arms raised over his head above him—

Steve jerks back, “Sorry.”

“Just—come on,” Tony rasps, bracing a hand on Steve’s chest.

Breathing through it, Tony forces himself to glance down at where Steve’s hand is carefully curved around his ribcage, thumb rubbing a gentle circle over his nipple. The drops of wetness on his skin are nothing more than sweat from Steve’s brow, dripping as he shoves into him.

Pleasure starts to curl again, lead in his stomach as Steve folds him in half, angling deeper until he finds Tony’s sweet spot over and over. There’s a steady stream of desperate little moans that Tony realizes belong to him, and he feels himself start to unravel around the edges. Release hangs just beyond reach and it’d be so easy to float away on it.

He reaches down to fist himself roughly, fucking hard and fast back onto Steve’s cock and forward into the tight ring of his hand. Steve slides a hand up his belly and over his chest soft and loving, in stark contrast to the way he’s taking him.

It’s perfect, Steve is perfect in this moment.

“Fuck me. Come on Steve, fuck me. Oh, oh fuck I’m going to—” Tony’s teeth grind together when he clenches down hard, as if he can bite back the pleasure and Steve’s name, together. He spills hot and wet across his stomach and Steve fucks him through it at a brutal pace, not letting up when he starts to whine and force him back with a hand on the hip.

There’s a flash of doubt across Steve’s pale features before he’s yanking out, shuffling up the bed on unsteady knees and stripping the condom off to jerk hard and fast onto Tony’s face.

Tony doesn’t have time to protest before Steve is coming, his face contorted into something so profoundly sad that Tony’s eyes burn when he shuts them. Wet, hot release streaks across his face and against his better judgement, Tony’s opening his mouth, tongue out, ready to suck him down all the same. 

Steve indulges himself, only once, sliding the tip of his cock into Tony’s mouth to spurt across his tongue. It’s bitter and salty but when Steve drags his thumb across a streak near the edge of his mouth and presses it inside, Tony sucks that down too.

Who was he kidding anyway?

A part of Steve already does, and always will live inside him. When it comes to Steve, barriers are inconsequential things Tony set aside years ago. 

Tony shuts his eyes and focuses on evening out his breathing. A hand trails across his chest and presses his wedding band down, leaving a sharp indentation above his left nipple.

The glow hasn’t quite started to fade when Tony turns his face away. “You should go.”

“Tony, don’t—”

“No, I want you to go,” he tries to sound firmer than he feels.

It would be so easy to let him stay. To welcome him back into his bed, his arms, his life. Except nothing has changed, this is just Tony coasting along with the high of his endorphins. Sex never changes these things. It only hurts, and Steve knows how to hurt him just right.

“Can we try tomorrow, at least? To talk? Please, Tony?” If only Steve didn’t look so desperate, limp cock out, sweat running down the side of his jaw and disappearing into his beard, it would be easier to say no.

Tony forces the words out anyway. “No. We’re done.”

Steve opens and shuts his mouth a few times before he shifts off the bed, pulls on his boxers, and disappears into the bathroom. He returns with a wet cloth and sets it on the edge of the bed without another word. 

Tony is absolutely covered in come and the way that now makes him feel sick sits heavy in his stomach; a stark contrast to a reel of beautiful, technicolour memories of what it once meant to feel owned. Marked. 

When the door clicks shut signaling that Steve is finally gone, Tony pulls off the rest of his disheveled clothing and curls onto his side. The tears come hot and heavy and Tony sobs like he hasn’t sobbed since he woke up, in pain and alone, after Siberia.

There’s one small comfort.

This time, he knows for certain. His marriage is over.

The next two days pass by at a grueling pace, leaving Tony exhausted and hollowed out. Steve still watches him, but something is different. Maybe now he realizes that Tony was serious after all, because he doesn’t try to approach him again, and he never comes back to Tony’s hotel room.

Tony buries his disappointment as deep as it can go.

The Accords Council passes the new Amendments, agreeing with immediate effect to all the necessary provisions that pardon and reinstate the Rogues. Barnes will serve no jail time and be permitted to join the Avengers pending a lengthy psychiatric evaluation process. There’s no joy on Barnes’ face when the agreement is signed and conferred into the Sokovia Accords and Tony finds himself wondering if maybe he's tired of all the fighting.

Odin knows, Tony is.

After Tony has said goodbye to Rhodey, his suitcase stowed away in the town car that will take him to the private airfield, he checks out of the hotel and makes one last stop. 

Steve and Barnes sit opposite to Natasha and Sam in a small booth off to the side of the hotel’s bar and grill. It’s two in the afternoon and the room is empty save the Rogues, three of whom eye him warily as he approaches. One gives him a hopeful smile that feels like an undeserved secret.

“Well,” Tony claps his hands together around two leaflet folders tucked under one arm. “I suppose congratulations are in order.”

“Thanks, Tony,” Steve smiles, but his eyes give him away. Nervousness stirs below the surface and the little muscle in his jaw that signals stress twitches.

“We’ll see you back in New York in two weeks. In the meantime, these are for you,” Tony shoves the first folder towards Barnes, making eye contact with him for the first time all week. Barnes eyes the folder as if it might jump out and bite him, but takes it and starts leafing through the papers.

They’re blueprints for a prototype of his arm. Tony’s been told there’s a tech genius in Wakanda that marvels his own and at least until Barnes is stateside this will be better than the stump of a shoulder joint he’s currently sporting.

“What’s this for?” Barnes’ brows knit together and Tony offers him a media-worthy smile.

“I figured I owed you, after I, you know, blew the last one off.”

Barnes doesn’t seem to know how to take him, “Uh, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Shuri would be able to put it together for you. We’ll work out the kinks when you’re settled into the Compound.”

Tony turns to Steve, who has softened, a shimmer of hope returning to his features. For a split-second, Tony thinks he’ll back down, lose his nerve. Maybe it’s worth giving Steve one more chance.

But then he sees Steve twirling his wedding band over and over on one long finger and thinks of his own. Earlier that morning he had gently pried open the clasp of the chain that kept the ring in place at his throat and folded it into a piece of toilet paper. When he’d finally brought himself to tuck it away at the bottom of his toiletry back, he’d wanted to retch.

His marriage is over.

Damn it, no. His marriage has been over for _months_. This shouldn’t be so hard.

Tony draws a deep breath. “And these are for you.”

Steve takes the second leaflet from him, frowning as he opens the top page and takes in the heading. It’s so simple, just three little words, but Tony sees the moment that they slice through the last shred of his resolve and rip him to pieces.

 _Petition for Divorce_.

“Tony, no.”

Tony remembers Steve, standing in front of him with both of Tony’s hands held loosely in his own, smiling down at him. In that moment, Steve was almost the happiest man on earth, second only to Tony himself.

He can hear Steve’s voice in his head like it was yesterday. _I promise to love you and cherish you every day for the rest of my life_.

And maybe, in a way, Steve will.

It’s muddy and complex, and Tony can feel his own heart breaking as he looks the man he loves in the eyes and silently begs for him not to let Tony go through with it, even as he shoves his fists into his pockets and steels himself to push on.

Tony thinks about the few people in this world that find their way back to each other, even after they separate. A farce, really, or a B-level Hallmark movie.

People systematically destroy the ones they love every day, trying to love them for something more than what they are. Tony and Steve deserve better than that, even if Steve doesn’t see it yet.

An errant thought of Howard and Maria surfaces but Tony pushes it away.

He takes a breath. Breathe in, breathe out.

“Send them to Pepper when you’ve signed them.”

Tony turns away and doesn’t look back. 


End file.
